Comfort Eating
by ArtemisDreamer
Summary: Merthur. Merlin/Arthur. M/M. "He groused over to the bed, tossing his jacket to the floor and discarding his boots before cocooning himself within the plush blankets and soft cotton sheets. Perhaps when he awoke he would discover that this had all been some sort of distressingly realistic dream." WG. Weight Gain. Depressed!Arthur. Don't like, don't read, okay?


Comfort Eating

"Another day without Merlin." Prince Arthur sighed, slumping forwards in his chair and letting his elbows rest on the table.

He was in his chambers, alone, and was missing his lover more than he would ever admit. The brunette had been sent on a journey to gather rare herbs in the Northern provinces, supplies that Gaius supposedly required to advance his experiments in creating more powerful sedatives. The prince personally thought that it was just a plot to separate him from the man he was no longer content to be without.

At any rate, it had been three weeks. Three seemingly endless weeks, with no fixed return date in sight.

He reached over to a platter on his right, which had been piled high with more than a dozen pastries. Now, only two remained, along with a healthy smattering of crumbs. Bringing the freshly baked treat to his lips, he inhaled deeply, the smell of apple, cinnamon and sweet pastry dough flooding his nostrils. Mouth beginning to water, he took a large bite, careless of decorum as he sat behind closed doors. The surface of the pastry crackled and flaked between his teeth as he chewed. The sweet tastes of the fruit preserve and powdered sugar mingled with the savory dough on his tongue. It was truly amazing.

He took another bite of the heavenly treat. It was little wonder that he had made the others disappear so rapidly. He resolved to grant the kitchen staff a healthy pay raise when the Yule season came around.

He had never been more grateful that Merlin had befriended the castle chefs on his behalf. They were now more than willing to provide him with all the deserts and pastries that he could possibly want, and at times like this, he needed that loyalty more than ever.

The sweets brought to mind the first time that Merlin had admitted his desire for the prince to become, shall we say, a more comfortable person. They brought to mind those occasions on which the brunette had stuffed him so full of pastry that he thought he might never move again, and the way that they made such a colossal mess of the kitchens whenever they attempted to bake together – there were many more of these sorts of occasions than Uther might believe.

In short, these treats brought him a sense that the other was near, and were comforting in a way that he was loathe to admit. He ate for comfort. Comfort eating. Yes, that sounded about right.

xxxOxxx

As he made to take a third bite, there was a sharp rapping on the door. That damnable servant was back. In Merlin's absence, Uther had appointed Gregory, an old family retainer, to be his temporary manservant. Unfortunately, just about everything the git did grated on Arthur's nerves. Knocking, for example. Merlin never knocked.

Gregory would be supremely annoyed when he saw the crumbs that coated the prince's shirtfront, as well as his smugly satisfied expression, since both clearly indicated that he had been gorging himself again.

This replacement servant was supposed to ensure that Arthur ate healthily. Somehow his father had gotten wind of the fact that Merlin was not exactly excelling in this area; or perhaps he had seen it with his own two eyes, as Arthur's belly had admittedly gotten out of hand these last few months. It had rapidly developed from a slight roundness into an impressive stomach that strained the seams of his otherwise loose tunics and threatened to burst the clasp of his overworked belt.

"Come in," the prince called testily, setting the half-eaten pastry back on the platter.

Gregory entered briskly, bowing to the blonde in a disgustingly servile fashion. "Your Highness-" he began, then broke off when he took in the scene. Clearly frustrated, he attempted to disguise his ire by closing his eyes and taking a deep, calming breath, which wheezed through those decrepit lungs.

Finally, he continued. "Your father, his Esteemed Excellency the King, demands your presence in the audience chamber."

The prince rolled his eyes at the flowery language and stood abruptly, brushing the crumbs from his clothes before stalking over to the closet. Gregory simpered along ahead of him, attempting to retrieve the jacket that Arthur would need to wear, but instead was rudely brushed aside by the impatient blonde. He yanked on the garment, heedless of the servant's attempts to aid him, and then stormed out of the chamber, knocking over a stack of parchment on the way out just to tick the old git off.

The door shut with a bleak finality as Gregory was left alone to tidy up the mess that the prince had left in his wake; a room that had been purposely left in a state that made battlefields look neat by comparison.

xxxOxxx

As usual, Uther had little good news. Reports of bandits, worrying troop movements in Cenred's kingdom, and other similarly unpleasant developments dominated the discussion. What was worse was the manner in which his father constantly emphasized the importance of his gracious behavior the following week, when the delegation from Mercia arrived. It was as if he saw Arthur as a mere child, who needed to be reminded again and again of such trite nonsense.

It was thoroughly a joyless discussion, consisting entirely of the king rattling on with increasing vitriol, tone bitter and eyebrows poised dangerously, while his son nodded and uttered the words "Yes, father," in all the right places without any enthusiasm whatsoever.

This meeting was not nearly enough to draw Arthur's attention away from his thoughts of Merlin.

_Merlin grinning as he spoke in that utterly disrespectful tone. Merlin smirking as Arthur ranted on about some princess that he was expected to woo, knowing full well that a woman would never come between them in their destined romance. Merlin gazing at him through those thick lashes, appearing so infuriatingly coy and yet still somehow innocent. Merlin licking the sugary syrup from Arthur's lips in between feeding him morsels of cinnamon pastry. Merlin kneeling before the prince, ready to use his talented tongue to bring Arthur to new heights of pleasure –_

"So, Arthur?" King Uther had a twinge of impatience in his voice.

"Yes father, of course," the blonde replied automatically, struggling to remember what exactly they had been discussing. Had he ever been so easily distractible before he had met that infuriating servant?

"It's settled then. Sir Leon has already been informed, and awaits the order to ride. At sunrise tomorrow the two of you will lead the knights on the mission that will eradicate the bandits of the Eastern Deep once and for all."

Ah, so that was what he had just agreed to. Wonderful.

"I will prepare the men, father. Good day."

With that curt farewell, he turned on his heel and left the chamber. It took all of his self-restraint not to slam the door behind him as he stomped petulantly back to his rooms, expression one of frustration and defeat.

xxxOxxx

At this point he had thought that the day could not possibly have gotten worse, and yet again he was proven wrong.

The moment that he saw what that damnable git had done to his chambers, Arthur muttered a string of irate curses under his breath – words that would have sent his father into a conniption fit. These were curses liberally used by the common folk of Camelot, and the prince had learnt most of them from overhearing his often-exasperated lover.

The current state of affairs was simply unacceptable. There was the stench of that vile citrus boot polish that he had expressly ordered his manservant never to use; The moth-eaten furs that had been dragged out from beneath the bed and prominently displayed across the chairs, as if they were something to be proud of; The fire which had been needlessly stoked despite the warmth that still lingered in the early autumn air; The windows that had been shut tightly, depriving the room of the breeze that would have mitigated the stifling temperatures that now overwhelmed him.

He wrenched said windows open and reveled momentarily in the cooler air, before turning and pitching the contents of his washing ewer over the fire. It sputtered pathetically as it died.

He then surveyed the rest of the room, noting several other displeasing facts. The tray of pastries had been removed. The bed had been made so stiffly and formally that it looked about as appealing as the average dungeon rack. The stacks of scrolls on the writing desk had been rearranged from a state of organized chaos to neat piles. Reordering the dozens of documents would be a laborious chore, one that he would inevitably have to carry out while in a dreadful rush on some miserably wet morning in November – he was quite certain of this.

Of course, the crowning touch, so to speak, was the fact that that infernal ruby circlet had been retrieved from the depths of the closet, where it had lain for months, and had been polished and laid upon a velvet cushion. It mocked him from atop the table at which he dined, an impractical, pompous trinket that only a traditionally-minded git like Gregory would deem the least bit relevant. Even his own father had admitted that it was hideous, a gift from a tasteless baron who had more wealth than common sense. Effeminate, ostentatious and insulting – and that was just the baron.

He resolved to wring the ancient servant's neck the moment that he reappeared, and groused over to the bed, tossing his jacket to the floor and discarding his boots before cocooning himself within the plush blankets and soft cotton sheets. Perhaps when he awoke he would discover that this had all been some sort of distressingly realistic dream.

Prince Arthur was having what was commonly known as a very, very bad day.

xxxOxxx

"Rise and shine!"

A hand roughly shook the blonde awake, a familiar voice practically shouting in his ear.

"Gah! Merlin!" Arthur shot upwards into a sitting position, torn from the comfort of a lazy sleep, only to come face to face with the one person he had been longing to see for weeks. His face softened, a grin spreading across his lips.

"You're back, then." He tried to keep the relief from showing in his voice.

"I'm back," the brunette confirmed, "and you're sleeping. At four in the afternoon."

Arthur sighed, a weary sound that only a truly exasperated man could manage. Merlin instantly understood, settling on the edge of the bed beside his prince.

"Sorry. So, Gregory was just as bad as I had hoped, then?"

The warlock dodged the retaliatory cuff that the blonde aimed at the side of his head, laughing at his own little joke like the complete twit that Arthur knew he was.

At the sound of that laugh, that perfect, innocent and joyful sound, the young Pendragon chuckled and reached out to pull his servant close. Merlin fell against the other's chest with a muffled squeak of surprise, as a pair of muscular arms looped around his thin body and held him tightly. That adorable blush colored his cheeks as Arthur pressed a chaste kiss against his lips.

They drew apart, momentarily, before the brunette practically seized his lover in a passionate kiss, melding their lips together and tasting one another with eager tongues. It was a kiss into which they poured all of the emotions which had built up in the time that they had been apart, and as pale fingers tangled in blonde hair, neither wanted the moment to end. They wanted nothing more than to be lost in this kiss forever, entwined as a perfect whole.

The embrace lasted for what felt like hours but was actually mere minutes, neither seeming to feel the need to breathe. At last, they drew apart, Arthur biting down on his servant's lower lip as they parted , showing that he was still very much in control.

In a flurry of movement, the pair rearranged their bodies, the thinner man brushing up against the body of his master far more than was necessary. Now, they both sat propped up against the headboard, covers tangled around their legs. As they settled, Merlin ghosted his hands up and down his lover's body, and Arthur allowed it, relishing that delicate touch. He made no move to protest, until those pale hands came to rest on the plush stomach that strained at his crimson tunic.

"So, do I disgust you now?" Arthur's tone was questioning, a single eyebrow quirked with a curious uncertainty.

"Huh?" Merlin appeared adorably confused.

Then, realization dawned. "No!" he yelped quickly. "No, you ridiculous dollop-head! You'd think by now that you'd get it. I love you this way."

He gently squeezed the softness of his lover's belly, fingers sinking pleasingly into a layer of fat that had not been nearly so thick before he had left on that tedious excursion. A smirk played on his features.

"In fact," the warlock continued, "if this is what happens when I'm away, I'm going to have to leave more often."

"Unacceptable." Arthur's voice was a low, dangerous growl. "As your prince, I command you to remain by my side." His tone brooked no argument.

Merlin nodded, moving to rest his head on the blonde's shoulder. He could plainly see that his lover had missed him, no matter how the Pendragon tried to hide it; For the sake of the other man's pride, though, he resolved not to say anything about it. They were together again, that was what mattered.

Long minutes passed in silence as the pair savored one another's company. A mere three weeks had felt so infinitely long – this proved without a doubt that their love was nothing less than destiny. As the Great Dragon had said, they were two sides of the same coin: completely inseparable. Calm breathing was the only sound in the room as Merlin snuggled even closer to that broad chest, an arm falling across his shoulder as Arthur drew him even nearer.

It was the prince's stomach that broke the silence, emitting a roar of hunger that caused Arthur to flush with embarrassment and Merlin to grin mischievously.

"Something to eat, sire?"

xxxOxxx

It was a prolonged meal that carried the pair through the evening, a veritable feast celebrating the long-anticipated return. It was a meal of the kind that would be spoken of in legends, a vast assortment of dishes from which Merlin nibbled contentedly as he fed his ravenous prince with heaping mouthfuls.

At long last, as evening faded into night, the brunette helped a full-to-bursting Arthur from that overworked dining table to the bed that lay across the chamber. The vast, taut orb that had been that comfortable stomach spilled forwards over the waist of the breeches that were the only apparel in which Arthur slept. It had again been filled to the limit by the delighted warlock, who relished every opportunity to indulge his master. He lived for this, feeding the prince into an achingly full stupor, watching as the man that he loved drifted off to sleep with a smugly contented smile on his perfect visage.

The stresses of the days that had passed, and the stresses of the dreaded patrol day that was yet to come, had been cast aside in favor of an evening of reckless indulgence.

This was how a prince was meant to live, decadently and without limitations; Merlin had decided this the moment that he had first witnessed Arthur's gluttony all those months ago. Now, he had returned to his lover's side, and the natural order of Camelot had finally been restored.

Neither man would have had it any other way.

FIN


End file.
